Undertaker's Halloween
by GrellsLilSecret
Summary: This short one-shot came about as I looked at the date and decided to write something for Halloween. Every year, on this night, Undertaker goes to the cemetery, although no one knows why.


**Undertaker's Halloween**

The wind whipped through the trees and coaxed the leaves to let go of their branches. Like a thousand, forgotten butterflies, the danced and floated on the chilly air in the light of the ragged moon. It was a quiet night so that the smallest sounds were exaggerated and magnified. The kind of night that induced nightmares and became the inspiration for frightening stories told in hushed voices. In fact, most people in the area had retired early, although they would have claimed they were simply tired and wanted to get up early the next morning, but the simple truth was that they were scared of the strange weight that hung on the air this night.

Undertaker didn't scare so easily.

His long, slender form was seated comfortably upon an ancient tombstone as he probed the darkness. Although nearsighted like of all of his kind, their glowing eyes still boasted better night vision than normal humans even if he wasn't wearing glasses. It had been so many years since he had worn glasses, it probably would be quite jarring for him if the world suddenly came into focus, but his other senses were in peak working order. He listened to the night, carefully separating the normal sounds from anything out of place. A small slowly twisted about his scarred face when he heard the leaves crackling under a tiny yet determined foot. He had once read an author describe the noise of crumbling leaves as the whispers of the dead, but he didn't think it had ever been so suiting as tonight.

"Hello, love," he greeted, as he turned around slowly.

Claudia Phantomhive stood before him in the dress that he himself had buried her in, which had grown tattered and ragged. Through his efforts, her body had been mostly preserved so that she was still the proud, handsome woman he remembered. Her hair had mostly fallen out over time as he had no way to keep those jetty strands alive, but even without the curls she had so adored he thought that she was beautiful.

"How did I get here?" she asked, obviously confused. Her voice was hoarse and dry, and Undertaker could almost imagine dust from her crypt rising out of her useless lungs.

"That doesn't matter," he answered, walking over to her, "You're here now." It was the same thing he said to her every year.

"I suppose," she replied, "although you know I don't abide by games. I expect straight answers."

"Of course, my darling lady," he said, offering his arm, "Let us take a stroll and I will tell you everything."

Despite his words, he avoided the subject. She did not need to know that her body was dead and that tonight, the night which the ancient Celts called Samhain, was the only night that she could walk with him as they had when she was alive. Instead, they talked about less weighty matters as he simply enjoyed the opportunity to hear her voice and feel her arm intertwined in his. She seemed to forget those questions as well as her mind reverted to those last few moments of her life, and she regarded him as someone that could be trusted.

The night slipped by all too quickly, and he felt her stride become unsteady before he saw the tiny sliver of orange highlight the horizon. The night was over and morning was approaching. His techniques, talents, and knowledge could only allow her body to sustain the appearance of life when the border between the realms was at its weakest. Any other time, he had no absolute power to restore life where it had been lost.

At least, he didn't yet.

He guided her back to the crypt, but she collapsed just as they reached the entrance. Carrying her gently as a groom might carry his virginal bride, he carried her across the threshold to return her to her final resting spot.

When he stepped out, he cursed the sun for rising much too early, although he knew it was useless. He could not stop the rising of the sun nor the passage of time. He only hoped that his eventual goals weren't completely out of his reach.

He closed the heavy door and ran his hand over the stone. "Soon, Claudia," he whispered, "Soon."

Sighing heavily, he turned and left the graveyard as his lockets rattled about his body. It was like mysterious notes of a song that had never been heard by this world.


End file.
